


The Hidden Meaning

by aazeal, mixermiz907



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Historical, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Language of Flowers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Pre-Fall (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aazeal/pseuds/aazeal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixermiz907/pseuds/mixermiz907
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have always been close friends ever since they left the Garden of Eden. One Christmas Crowley gives Aziraphale a book on flower language and the two begin sharing flowers between them. Will Crowley discover the hidden meaning Aziraphale has left for him in the bouquets?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 53
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. Every Rose Has Its Thorn

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Pearl09 and crowkag for betaing the fic for me! And a HUGE thank you to [aazeal](https://aa-zel.tumblr.com/post/642611209126985728/my-contribution-for-chapter-1-of-the-hidden) for all of the art for the fic!

God had everyone hard at work to perfect the new world that would be called Earth. Some angels were to design the landscape, how the Earth would rotate in its terrarium of God’s collection, what kind of fish were to be swimming in the never-ending oceans, what kind of grass would best fit on Earth, the dinosaur joke. Crawly’s job was to create flowers and flora for the bees to collect their sweet nectar to give the world the feeling of beauty residing within its atmosphere. Crawly was hard at work that day trying to perfect the Flower of Eden, a simple but currently colorless rose. It had to be perfect, nearly as perfect as God Herself. He had been hard at work on this rose for nearly a week at that point. He had just given it thorns to protect itself from being plucked too early—or at all, for that matter. This flower was the key to keeping Eden alive. 

Little did Crawly know, however, that Lucifer had his own plan in the making, and he wanted Crawly in on it.

“Crawly, my boy!” Lucifer exclaimed as he approached the angel that was sitting cross-legged, wings surrounding him and practically hiding him and the colorless rose from view. “How’re ya doing, lad?”

“Fine,” Crawly muttered, his attention clearly on the rose.

“Would you like to join Beelz, Dagon, and me on a little _excursion_?” 

“Sure, sure, just gimme a moment to finish up here.” His face was contorted in thought as he continued to mold the rose.

“You’ve been working on this one all week!” Lucifer exclaimed. “Take a break. Why don’t you come and relax a little?” He crept closer to the angel, enough for Crawly to have finally begun to take notice that Lucifer’s feathers were beginning to grey and his halo was cracked ever so slightly, shimmering more silver than gold. 

“Your wings—”

“Are fine. Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” He grabbed Crawly by the arm, hoisting him upright. “Now, let’sss have sssome fun,” he hissed in his ear. 

Crawly was right to be concerned with Lucifer’s wings, as his wings too began to grey after that day until they turned pitch black and his halo was split in two. And then one day, he Fell, hard, plummeting through the unfinished Earth and into Hell, a once uninhabited place now littered with sin and Lucifer’s lackeys. Crawly understood the consequences of his actions and would have to endure the aftermath of his actions. He would never be able to finish his flowers. Someone would have to pick up the slack the demons left behind in their wake. 

Crawly’s time in Hell was brief. He learned to configure himself into his demon form with ease, becoming a snake in seconds. It wasn’t long before Lucifer came into contact with Crawly again.

“Crawly.” Lucifer clapped a hand onto the demon’s shoulder. “How are ya, my boy? Hell treating ya well?”

“Seems sensible enough.”

“Listen, bud. I’ve got a little job for you. God is almost done with Earth and sending an angel to watch over Eden.”

“Get to the point, Lucccccy,” Crawly hissed, his tongue flickering in annoyance.

“The _point_ is… We need a demon on Earth too, and I was wanting to send you.”

“Why me?” 

“Because you’re one of my best, wouldn’t want ya anywhere else,” Lucifer replied, pushing Crawly to walk with him. He reluctantly obliged the head demon.

“Better than Beelzebub and Dagon?” he asked incredulously 

“In your own way, yes.” The demon smirked, lying through his teeth. 

“Fine, I’ll bite. What angel are they sending?” Crawly asked, stopping in his tracks.

“You’ll meet him soon enough,” he promised.

And he would meet him, in a matter of the days when the plans for Earth would officially commence.


	2. We're All God's People

“Aziraphale, Principality.” The alabaster angel stuck his hand out in greeting towards the demon.

“Crawly,” was all he replied. He shook the angel’s hand. It was surprisingly cold to the touch, the demon noted to himself.

The pair had finally met in Eden as was foretold. The angel they sent was portly. His round face had pink dimples and crow’s feet on the outer edge of each pale blue eye. His smile was as pure as Crawly was before he Fell. 

Eden was a beautiful place—the keyword being was. The place known as Eden was vanishing before their very eyes as Crawly had convinced the woman, Eve, to pluck the rose he had once worked so hard on. If he was to be ruined, so was Eden. Adam and Eve first had to eat the apple, of course, the damn apple that was placed precariously in the center of Eden, begging to be picked, to have its skin pierced by human teeth and have its juice quench the humans’ thirst. 

The apple being picked upset God. She sent a hastily scrawled note warning them of the Rose to which Crawly tempted them further to pluck it from the bush it resided in. Eve had reached up and plucked it, pricking her finger along the way to her nose to smell the beautiful flower. God was angry, of course, so She had cast them out of the Garden.

“It’s a shame, really,” Crawly mused, bringing his fingertips to his chin in thought.

“A shame?” The angel arched a white brow.

“A shame that God and all of the angels worked so hard on this planet, and for what? For the humans to fuck it up and over?” He threw his hand up in the air. 

“Well, She does know what She’s doing, Crawly. We are all Her people, even you,” he began to remind him through the thundering of the first storm clouds. 

“God had forsaken me. She doesn’t care about a single one of us that fell,” he spat.

“You’re wrong. She was sad to see you and the others Fall,” the angel said pointedly.

“If you say so.” 

The sky began to grey as the clouds loomed overhead threatening to precipitate at any moment. Crawly made a shelter for the pair with his wings and soon after began to feel the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the blackened soon not to be neatly groomed wings.

“Where will you go?” the angel asked, turning to face the demon.

“Here and there, I need to see what kind of mischief the humans can get themselves into, especially with Eve’s children to be born,” he smirked.

“ _Children?_ I thought she was expecting one?” 

“Nope, two, twins I think is what they'll be called.”

“Alright then, I guess I shall have to thwart your plans of sinister sinning.” He placed a hand to his mouth and giggled softly. 

“I guess you shall.” The demon smiled back, in promise.

Adam and Eve successfully left the Garden with Aziraphale’s flaming sword in tow, to protect them and their unborn children for the generations to come. The angel and demon would watch over the family in the coming years before turning to other, far more pressing, matters. 


	3. Don't You Hear Me Calling You?

The demon crept along the streets of Camelot looking for the next poor soul to seduce into defiling their honorable ways. This is what Crowley had to settle for during these times. When Arthur and his company of knights took up being the notable dogooders Crowley had to find some retaliation. Whether it was crossing blades with potential knights before they could be even greeted by Sir Arthur Pendragon or tempting a poor soul to cheat on his betrothed. The latter was far easier to accomplish.

He found the apprentice blacksmith with flowers in his soot-covered hand and a bit of pep in his step as he was walking back to his home. Crowley had to follow him to see what the fuss was about. He began to slither in the shadows keeping the smith in his view but not so close as to be full-on stalking the wretched sod. 

The smith knocked on the door of a home that wasn’t his thrice before waiting for a response, this was Crowley’s time to act, he morphed into his snake form and began to hiss in the smith’s ear, “You’re not worth her time, find someone elsssssssssssse.”

The man shook his head. “I waited this long for her, no stopping now,” he whispered, defying Crowley’s words the smith knocked again.

“She’s not the one, you're wassssssting your time,” he hissed again.

“I won’t believe you, she and I were meant to be, the angel told me himself.”

The angel? Who could possibly get this sod’s head so high to see through this blasphemy?

“Craw-Crowley? What’re you doing here?” The angel, Aziraphale appeared seemingly from thin air.

“Aziraphale!” the demon said joyously morphing into his normal form arms extended, hair tied back into a bun donning black bottoms and a black tunic to match. “What brings you to these parts?”

“Watching good deeds at work,” he beamed.

“Good deeds? The only deeds I see are the foulest of them!” he cried.

“Oh no no no.” The angel shook his head. “You see this poor fellow has been waiting for years to admit his feelings to the one he loves the most and you, sir, are _trying to ruin that.”_

“Nonsense, just trying to get my own work done too, I’ll have you know.” He pointed a finger. “That one is going to change his mind, get himself a tibble or seven and go find another woman to woo.”

“I’ll do no such thing!” the smith finally called out, reminding the pair that the one they spoke about was still there.

“Oh I’m sorry, dear fellow, go on with your venture, win the girl’s heart if you are so inclined!” Crowley boisterously shouted at the smith.

“Fine then _I will!”_ He knocked once again and this time the door opened. As the door opened the two beings fled to the shadows so as to not announce themselves to the woman.

“Yes?” A young, slender woman with olive skin and auburn hair stood in the entryway. She was wearing a light green dress with a peach-colored apron tied around her waist. 

“Erm, hello.” The man chuckled nervously. “I brought you these.” He held the flowers out to her, a bouquet of freshly plucked lilacs.

“Oh-thank you.” She took them. “Would you like to come in?” she asked as she moved out of the way of the doorframe.

“Of-of course!” he stammered, entering the threshold, with that the door closed behind them.

The beings came out from the shadows and began to walk away from the home. “I told you they’d end up together,” Aziraphale chided the demon. 

“Yes, yes, once again you bested me.” the demon said glumly. 

“Oh did not, with your tempting you helped him see the light, you helped me.”

“Oh if you insist, but just this once is all the help you will get from me,” he stated.

It was, in fact, the first of many times Crowley would help out Aziraphale in his long existence. 

  



	4. The Language of Flowers

The streets of London were always busy around this time of year. The snow fell onto the roofs of the shops lining the roads and the horse-drawn carriage turned it to sludge. It was beautiful in its own grotesque way. 

Christmas was upon them and Aziraphale was looking forward to the new releases of books to fill in his collection, or his shop, rather. Not that the angel ever sold a book. He wouldn’t dare give up one of his children to a passerby. What if they creased the pages? The audacity. 

Crowley had started a tradition of picking a new book for Aziraphale every year for Christmas since the shop opened and this year was to be no different. He’d pick out a book, wrap it in that day’s newspaper, and set it on the dining room table of the living space of the shop for them to exchange presents later that night after a few bottles of wine was downed between the two of them. 

“‘The Language of Flowers’ by Kate Greenaway,” Crowley said aloud as he gingerly flipped through the pages. Each line was dedicated to a flower and was filled with images of flowers hand-painted in. A first edition. “I sure hope he likes it,” he whispered to himself as he purchased the book and took it home to his flat, wrapping it in the newspaper and taping it sealed.

Christmas couldn’t come fast enough that year.

“Merry Christmas!” Crowley announced as the bookshop door opened to reveal a jolly Aziraphale, the angel’s face beet red from the wine he had been drinking since the morning, a stark contrast from the angel’s usual slate color pallet.

“M-Merry Christmas!” the angel hiccupped.

“Start without me again, Aziraphale?” the demon jested. 

“Perhaps. I saved you the best bottles.” He raised his hand, pointing his index finger to the table laden with unopened wine bottles ready for their annual wine tasting around the table on Christmas day. They began with their first bottle then moved to presents.

“Here you are,” Crowley said as he slid the newspaper-wrapped book towards Aziraphale.

“Why thank you, kind sir.” The angel blushed, taking it to unwrap it and to reveal the book. “Oh my-”

“Do you like it? I wasn’t quite sure if-” Crowley began.

“Like it? I love it, Crowley. Thank you!” The angel leaped from his chair and hugged the demon. 

“You’re welcome,” the demon choked through their tight embrace. Aziraphale always got this excited over being gifted a book but Crowley never minded watching the reactions he got out of a new book. 

“I can’t wait to dive in and see what this has in store for me,” he beamed, dancing in his chair.

They continued with their gifts. Aziraphale had bought Crowley a 1727 bottle of Massandra Sherry de la Frontera and a bottle of the best Żubrówka Vodka, both of which Crowley still had to the current day. They wrapped up shortly after that and bid each other goodnight, Aziraphale to retire to his desk to read and Crowley to retire to his flat for a week’s nap.

  


A week later he awoke to the new year, 1885. Aziraphale had welcomed himself into the flat and had presented the demon with a spread for breakfast of scones, eggs, and a bit of toast and jam to go along with it. Next to the platter was a bouquet of yellow begonias.

By the time Crowley was awake that afternoon, Aziraphale had already left. He sauntered over toward the bouquet and pulled a singular flower from it, smelling it, noting every essence of the flower and how its delicate petals flowed inward towards the demon as he inhaled. He replaced it in the bouquet. He then pulled out his copy of _The Language of Flowers_ , which marked begonias as ‘feeling of contentment’.

Crowley was indeed very content with how things were going between himself and Aziraphale, he thought to himself as he dug into the platter. 

  



	5. Breakthru, These Barriers of Pain

Crowley was unsure how to ponder the vase he found upon his desk the following week. Yellow carnations. Disdain. Did the demon do something wrong? His thoughts began to race faster than a rickety cart being dragged along by a spooked horse when the door behind him opened. Aziraphale had arrived.

  


“Did you enjoy your present?” the angel asked, hugging him from behind.

“I—what did I do?” He turned around to face Aziraphale.

“Nothing, what on—”

“Then why?” He gestured to the flowers. “Are you asking to end this?”

“End what? There’s nothing to end Crowley. We’re good, I promise,” he tried to reassure the demon.

Doubt began to sow into Crowley’s mind like fresh seeds in a newly plowed field. He had no idea if he was to believe him when the flowers clearly told him something was amiss. 

“If you say so,” the demon finally said, looking down at his “shoes”.

“I do. Now, what would you say to a spot of lunch?” He clapped him on the shoulder, making Crowley flinch slightly in memory of Lucifer.

“Lunch sounds nice,” he lied, obliging to the request. The pair then left the flat.

They arrived at their usual cafe. Aziraphale ordered himself a bacon sandwich and Crowley merely settled for a cup of tea, pouring a touch of vodka into it from a hip flask. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to eat. His thoughts were still swirling around the flowers. Aziraphale must’ve been okay with him if he offered to take him to lunch and that is what the demon clung onto to reassure himself. 

During their lunch, Aziraphale held most of the conversation, mentioning the different patrons that visited his shop, ones that tried to purchase a book and even one he had to chase out of the store with a broom; Crowley had to laugh at that last one, picturing his crazed angel chasing the man out of the bookshop waving a broom in the air. 

The conversation between them remained absent until they were to part ways for the evening.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” the angel asked the demon, squeezing his hand.

Crowley squeezed the angel’s hand back, which the angel took as a yes to his question. 

They did indeed meet the next day, and the day following, and the day proceeding that. A week later, another bouquet of flowers appeared outside of Crowley’s flat.

“Yellow jasmines paired with bearded Crepis, and white clovers,” Crowley mused, setting the flowers down on the table and picking up the book. “Grace, elegance, protection, and—” he flipped the pages of his copy of _The Language of Flowers_ , “—and think of me.” He hugged the book, thinking of the angel that undoubtedly sent them.

All of these meanings were good in the demon’s eyes, but the “think of me” is what stuck in Crowley’s mind the most. He definitely was thinking of the angel, as he always did. 

“I guess things were good between us after all,” he beamed to himself. “I panicked for naught.” He laughed.

Where the pair’s relationship lay remained unknown to the both of them, even with the attempts to convey their thoughts through floral language.


	6. Snakes in Your Eyes

The years went by and Crowley continuously received flowers from Aziraphale. Some he even tried to grow in his flat, to keep them alive for even a week longer than in a vase. 

Decades passed. The Earth had seen two world wars, many civil wars, and several economic collapses, but two things always remained the same for the otherworldly beings: their care in one another and the exchange of flowers between the pair. 

Crowley looked about his flat, having just gotten home from The Ritz after the banishment of good old Lucifer thanks to the Antichrist—Adam. Good riddance, Crowley would have to admit. Lucifer was always a thorn in the demon’s side, the reason for his descent into hell, after all. 

Things were strewn about in the flat still, one thing Adam didn’t correct to Crowley’s dismay. So the demon began to clean up from the killing Ligur. Boy, did the Holy Water leave a rotten mess of the place. 

An hour later—after finally cleaning the remnants of the demon Ligur—Crowley heard a knock on the door and heard someone place something in front of the door before the figure turned their heel and he heard their footsteps retreat from the door.

He went to the door and opened it. Looking down, he found a bouquet was carefully set at the door. No doubt it was Aziraphale—the flowers were yellow. What they were, however, Crowley would have to dig the book out for that answer. Or he could look it up on his phone as the kids nowadays did. 

He pulled out his phone first, googling what kind of flowers they were. When he found no results to his question, he put the phone away and went for the book, _Language of Flowers_. The book’s pages were just as yellow as the petals of the flowers from the years of being used to try and interpret the angel’s messages. Crowley had the worst luck trying to interpret the messages for the flowers but never had the faintest idea why.

The bouquet consisted of yellow hyacinths, abatinas, and daisies.

“Jealousy or envy for the hyacinth, abatina is to fickleness? Odd. And daisies are for innocence?” He questioned the book as he read the meanings aloud to no one. “I don’t understand what he’s getting at. I should call him.” 

Crowley placed the book down and pulled out his phone and tapped till he got to Aziraphale’s icon. He tapped it, placing the phone to his ear. He began to pace the length of the flat as he let the dial tone play in his ear.

One ring, two rings. On the third, Aziraphale answered.

“Ah, I see you got my flowers?” He heard the angel through the phone.

“Ngk, yes I did. I’m actually curious about them, Angel.”

“Curious?”

“Jealousy, envy, fickleness, innocence?” he asked before he could think about how to phrase the question.

“I’m not sure I get what you mean Crowley?”

“The meanings?”

“Hmmm.”Silence. “Aha! You’re still using the book!” He could hear the angel’s change in tone.

“Yes. I thought you were too?” The demon paused in his tracks.

“Oh, I completely forgot about it my dear. I just love the yellow. Reminds me of your eyes.” Aziraphale giggled.

Crowley sighed in relief, “Oh, good grief. I thought you were hating me this whole time. You just chose them for my—eyes?”

“Mhmm. Now riddle me this, my dear fellow. Would I send you flowers if I, for lack of a better word, hated you?” 

“Mmm, no?”

“Precisely. I don’t hate you, Crowley. In fact, far from it,” the angel continued. The last bit Crowley barely heard.

“Well, good. So, shall I see you later?” 

“Yes, you shall. Now I must go tidy up. Haven’t reopened the shop since it went up in flames. Talk to you later, my good sir!” 

Click. The line went dead and Crowley’s heart would have skipped a beat were he human.

Aziraphale didn’t hate him after all. 

  



	7. Just savour every mouthful: And treasure every moment

The days trudged along, seeming to never end for the demon. His days begun to blend together; he would pick up a paper from the mailslot to his flat, read it, place it in the rubbish bin, lounge on the couch while scrolling through Facebook, maybe drink a bottle of wine or two, rinse and repeat until one day the day didn’t seem so mundane.

This day started out as the previous ones had, but by the time Crowley went to pick up the paper, a bouquet of flowers were laid by the entrance to his flat. These flowers appeared about a week after the assorted yellow bouquet was received. This one, however, was comprised of lilacs and white roses bundled together in a crystal vase. They were the first set of flowers Crowley received that weren’t yellow in nearly a century. They were beautiful. Crowley couldn’t help but smile at the bouquet.

He picked them up and brought them in, replacing the old bouquet with this one. The flower language book was still out, flipped to the page detailing the meaning of daisies. He flipped it first to lilacs then to the meaning of a white rose. 

The lilacs had multiple meanings—pure sentiment, broken engagement, and first love—while the roses meant a new beginning and everlasting love. But which did he mean for the lilacs, Crowley had to wonder. Why would he want to break an engagement. The pair weren’t engaged. Perhaps he meant pure sentiment?

Just then Crowley heard a knock on the door, startling the demon out of his ‘shoes’. 

“It’s open! Unless you’re not Aziraphale, then in that case it’s very very locked!” the demon called out. 

The door opened, closed, and in came Aziraphale. His expression was unreadable to the demon, who still had the book in hand towering over the bouquet of flowers.

“So?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, beginning to smirk.

“So?”

“What do you think?” He gestured to the flowers.

Crowley looked at the flowers on the table and then back to the angel standing before him. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Ang? The lilacs had two vastly different meanings and I wasn’t quite sure which you were referring to.”

“You mean—” he stopped mid-sentence. “Ah, you must’ve not gotten the note that was to come with it.” He placed his palm to his forehead, as he patted his coat pockets. “My goodness, me. I never gave it to the florist. My sincerest apologies, Crowley.” He handed the demon a photograph of a cottage. It appeared to be dated around the Victorian Era, made of brick and deep wood windows and doors. Along the side was a grouping of vines threatening to consume the cottage whole. There wasn’t another house in sight.

It was beautiful.

“It’s a gorgeous cottage, Aziraphale,” he admitted. “What are you asking, my dear?”

“Will you—” He stopped before taking a breath as if to calm himself. The angel appeared to be trembling as he swayed on his feet. “Will you move in with me? I had some money set aside for quite a while and I—” 

The angel was forced to stop by the lips of a demon on his own.

  


“Yes, gladly. Is this what you were trying to say in the flowers?” he said after breaking the kiss, his face nearly as red as his hair.

“Erm, yes. I should’ve double-checked the note was there and the flowers were right. I guess I over-thought it.” the angel chuckled, running a hand through his white curls. 

“You always overthink it, Angel. But that’s okay. Let us stop thinking for a little while and just live in the moment. I’ve got quite a bit of packing to do if we’re to move in together.”

Little did the angel know, the demon was already hatching up a plan to repot all of his plants in their new-to-them cottage. A new beginning for the both of them.


	8. Epilogue

They began the move-in process as soon as Crowley was able to get his affairs in order. He had purchased his flat outright years before, so he simply needed to find a tenant to fill the new vacancy, which was a simple feat as there were always people looking for a flat in Mayfair, especially at this time of year. 

Aziraphale had called the moving company to pick up Crowley’s things and a few things from the bookshop he would need for everyday living. He planned on keeping the bookshop open, at least for a little while. Would he sell books? Definitely not, but he planned on continuing the charade at least for a little while longer. 

The Them also helped with the move-in, or rather got in the way until they were sent to the backyard to play with Dog while Newt took care that they didn’t wander too far. Anathema helped Aziraphale unpack the kitchen while Crowley directed his attention to his collection of records and CDs, making sure each one was accounted for and didn’t become lost during the move. 

Before long, everything was indeed accounted for, and everyone that helped them move in began to bid them farewell and the ethereal beings were able to retire for the night. A quiet candlelit dinner was something the pair of them needed after the long day they had entertaining the human guests they had beside them that day.

Aziraphale was in no state to cook, having been unpacking all day, so he had simply ordered food from a restaurant in town. It had arrived shortly before sundown.

The conversation was vibrant that night. The pair were eager to begin their lives together and couldn’t help but plan out what their forever would be like. 

Aziraphale had finished eating, cleaned up his plate, and uncorked a bottle of wine when a knock on the door startled the pair.

“Flower Delivery!” they heard through the door. Crowley opened the door to find Newt standing there. “These were delivered to me accidentally. Figured I’d give them to the rightful owner,” he beamed.

“Thank you, Newt.” The demon took the flowers, smiling softly. 

“Goodnight!” He waved before turning his heel and climbing into Dick Turpin, speeding off into the night. 

Crowley closed the front door before turning around and returning to the dining room.

“Ah, I wasn’t expecting them to arrive until tomorrow evening!” Aziraphale called, clapping his hands together. “Well, since they’re here, have a go.” Aziraphale got up and hugged the demon.

“The book’s still packed away, isn’t it?” He looked at the angel through the corners of his eyes.

“You won’t be needing it this time, my dear. They’re a combination of lily of the valley and common poppies. I created them myself, you know.”

Crowley froze. “You did?’

“Why, yes. You see…” He took a breath, shuffling his feet. “When you Fell, God needed more flowers. They weren’t finished, so I took up the task of finishing them. I hope you like them, these were the only two I didn’t use a previous reference for.” He chuckled.

“Like them? I love them, Angel.” He placed the flowers on the table, hugging Aziraphale tighter.

“Well good, then it wasn’t a waste.” He laughed awkwardly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, there wasn’t very much of a color palette for me to reference when I got to the drawing board of coloring in the flowers, so I may have had to use my own color for the flowers. It’s why my hair is white.” He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I’m glad you get to enjoy the flowers I created for you, my lovely demon.” 

“I’m sorry you had to give up your color to finish my work, angel. I wish I could make it up to you.”

“You already have.” He kissed him on the cheek. “You’ve colored my world a thousand times over. Never will there be a colorless day in my life again.”


End file.
